


Keep Talking

by PSebae



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mental Instability, Minor Violence, Permanent Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2017-12-02
Packaged: 2019-02-09 13:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12889110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PSebae/pseuds/PSebae
Summary: Requested by anon on Tumblr.A combat situation in Zanzibar Land takes something precious from Ocelot.





	Keep Talking

Sometimes Big Boss wished he could treat his memories like Polaroid snapshots. To save them in a book for admiration, or tear in two, like the incident had never happened. In a life like theirs, a moment could go from ‘keepsake’ to ‘a moment to have never happened’ in a fraction of a second. So he should have known how things might go, when he looked up over his opponent’s shoulder and saw Ocelot framed against a wave of fire, coat billowing back like great blackened wings, guns trailing smoke and face twisted in demoniac enthusiasm. It couldn’t have been planned better. He would have framed it on his wall if he could. Then the moment was gone, shattered like a hot glass dropped in cold water, and Ocelot was in the centre of it a, hissing fracture.  
  
Reeling backwards, wrist twisted unnaturally, fingers loosing their grip. His left hand was coming around, raising his other gun to fire back at his attacker. His face contorted in rage and pain. Big Boss twisted and dropped his victim, who fell to the ground, neck broken. The terrified soviet who’d managed through pure luck to shoot the revolver from the double-agent’s hand was turning his emptied gun around and was bringing it back as a club.

 

Big Boss saw Ocelot stumble backward, gagging and flailing at his throat. Two more soldiers leapt forwards, eager to be the one to bring down Revolver Ocelot. They both fell to Big Boss’ rifle. The one who’d struck Ocelot in the first place had been shoved out of the way, he was retreating, he’d seen he vengeful army commander approaching.

 

By the time he got there Ocelot had flopped over onto his front, hands to his throat, which was rapidly turning a nasty purple, and gagging and gasping violently, bloody spittle clinging to his lips. He lashed out at John wildly, then grabbed his arm and wheezed wordlessly, eyes rolling back.   
“Shit!” He wrenched at his radio, calling for help. Ocelot’s body spasmed with the effort of trying to suck air in through his paralysed throat, and John grabbed at him and shoved their mouths together, forcing air into his lungs before throwing him over his shoulders and sprinting for the highly dubious spot the helicopter would be heading for.

 

\---  
  
“How is he?”  
Ocelot hurt the deep rumble of John’s voice through the door, distant, muffled, but just audible. The medical staff in charge of him were less so. He scowled at the clear bubble free water covering his legs and puffed through his nose at a speck of fluff.  
_Go away._ He willed. _Go away._  
Approaching footsteps.  
He bared his teeth and drew up his knees, bowing his head to hide his face behind them.  
_Go away. Didn’t they tell you, I don’t want to talk right now… I’m fine. Go away…_  
A long pause, hesitation, had he gotten the hint? No. Knocking on the door. Ocelot closed his eyes and said nothing.  
“Ocelot? It’s me. … John.”  
_I know…_  
“Can I come in?”  
_No._  
“The medical staff say you c-- won’t talk. Knock once if I can come in?”  
Stubbornly he refused. Despite his bad mood a wry smile flittered across his lips, long lived as a mayfly, imagining what Quiet—long since vanished into ether, or thereabouts, for all Ocelot could track her down—might think if she saw him now, after all those weeks of trying to get her to crack. The door handle turned and crushed the mayfly. Ocelot looked up, firing his angriest look at the opening door.  
  
John slipped through the barely open doorway and had the decency to look away in shame at Ocelot’s nasty look, which could have left scorch marks in the back of the door.  
“Had to make sure you hadn’t drowned in here.” He mumbled, eye trailing up Ocelot’s nude upper body, ignoring the old scars and focusing on the green and yellow flowers that bloomed across his throat. He sat on the edge of the bath and folded his hands on his knees.  
“They say you can try to talk now if you want. But you won’t. You’re able to eat now—well… Liquid diet right? Nice. Been there...” he trailed off. “Can you talk?” He asked, looking around, and Ocelot was pleased to see honest to goodness fear on Snake’s face.  
_Serves you right for walking in here, see if I care._ He looked away from Snake’s concerned face, chest aching nearly as much as his throat.  
  
“I saw what happened.” Snake said listlessly, grasping at straws. “Got lucky didn’t he? It happens.”  
Ocelot snorted, looking at his reflection in the water. He still had a bit of black eye but it was mostly faded away now. “Someone gets lucky, someone doesn’t.” He heard the familiar scratching of nails on eyepatch.  
“Hell Adam, just say something. Please?”  
Ocelot looked up at him, blue eyes dry and sore despite the humid air. He reached up, pinched his nose closed and sunk below the water. Sliding his long legs out over the end of the bath to make space.  
  
Snake, who was well aware of how long Ocelot could hold his breath, sighed and wandered around to the end of the bath, where he knelt down and grabbed one of Ocelot’s narrow feet. Under the water Ocelot’s eyebrows knotted and he pushed a stream of bubbles out through his nose as he felt the pads of Snake’s thumbs pushing against the soul of his foot.  
  
Minutes ticked by. Snake moved to the other foot. Ocelot let out a final angry stream of air and surfaced, sucked in air and immediately cringed, gritting his teeth in pain. He looked up to see Snake looking at him with his normal blank-canvas expression, one good eye delving through him, looking for an ounce of truth and insight into their situation. Ocelot met his gaze with his best diplomat’s mask until Snake scowled and looked away, obviously irritated at being shut out.

“I just want to know you’re going to be alright. Is that so much to ask?”  
Ocelot took his feet back and curled in on himself to slide over onto his stomach and slosh through the cooling water to come up to Snake’s end of the bath. He pressed his wet face into Snake’s cheek, kissing him sloppily and giving him a sorry smile. Snake stroked back his wet hair.  
“Can you still talk?” A slow blink, yes.  
“Will you?” A subtle shake of his head.   
“Later?” Hesitation, then another blink, slower even than the first.  
“Later...” Snake nodded. “Okay.” He stood up. “Water is cold. Lets get you out of there.”  
Ocelot scowled and dropped down to his belly like a sulking water serpent. Legs curling over his back. He liked it here, despite the growing chilliness. It was a good place to hide from reality and God Himself couldn’t make him face that right now.  
“I’ll call the nurse.”  
Snake on the other hand…  
Ocelot sat up and took Snake’s hand.

 

\---  
  
Snake looked up from the folding table as the tent flaps opened. He met Ocelot’s gaze and told his men to leave them, the meeting was as good as done anyway.   
“How are you doing?”  
Ocelot shrugged.  
“On the mend at least, or you wouldn’t be here. Did you at least get discharged?” He raised one sparse eyebrow and Ocelot nodded, smiling grimly.  
“Ocelot--” he paused, seeing Ocelot open his mouth a crack then close it again. Silence. He came around the map table and placed a hand on either of Ocelot’s shoulders.  
“I can’t have you like this. No don’t look at me like that, I need you to be able to carry my orders, to give them—yes I know you can work alone, but I don’t need that right now.” Ocelot’s blue eyes flickered, misery etched into the creases around his eyes.  
“I don’t know what’s going on, but if you… Go get some rest.” Ocelot stared at him until Snake leant in to kiss his chapped lips. “Please?” Not an order then.  
Ocelot wavered.  
“I’ll come see you later… Maybe… Maybe we could…?” It was Snake’s turn to waiver, doubt creeping into his voice, it had been a while. Ocelot knew Snake was struggling in all areas now, outside of war, and guilt scratched at him for being so self-indulgent when he was dealing with a fraction of the troubles John was. A glance at the closed tent flaps. Ocelot slipped his arms around Snake’s waist and pressed himself close, pressing kisses up his commander’s neck and ear, tasting sweat in his sideburns, feeling their beards scratching together as they nuzzled absurdly. Then broke apart. Pink on Ocelot’s cheek, fatigue on Snake’s.  
“Go. Please.”

 

\---  
  
Snake smiled as he felt delicate hands slide around his stomach, fingers curling into his rough shirt and holding on tightly.  
“Hey.” He looked back as Ocelot rested his chin on his shoulder. “I was wondering where you’d got to.”  
They stood together like that for a good minute, soaking up the warmth from the other’s body. Then finally broke apart. Ocelot stood, eyes closed as John’s rough fingers traced light as feathers over his throat.  
“Nothin’ even there now.” He muttered. “Healing up well. On the surface at least.” Ocelot tilted his head back, giving him better access. “Doctor said everything else was getting on too. Eating properly again. That’s good.” He closed his hands gently around Ocelot’s neck and pressed his mouth against the soft skin under the gunman’s ear. “Soon have you back to your old self.”   
Ocelot tried to swallow a bitter chuckle and coughed. He winced.  
Snake stood back to give him some space as he rubbed his neck lightly with a grimace.  
“Kind of figured—this kind of injury—I’d probably give it to you.”   
Ocelot smiled at this, an honest, warm and somewhat encouraging grin.  
“Guess we won’t be doing much of that any time soon.”  
A shake of his head this time. No. Mores the pity.  
  
\---  
  
Snake sat cross legged, mindlessly cleaning his guns, thoughts far away. Ocelot lay out on his back, head tilted to watch him, the lamp light throwing his features into stark relief and deep shadow. His sullen mouth temptingly kissable. Ocelot didn’t notice himself smiling. He could have slept, but that would have meant closing his eyes and right now he just wanted to soak up every moment with love, while he still was, wanted to be, could be.  
  
John’s clear blue eye rose, hidden in shadow. His mind offered him an image. Fire and bloodlust, the thrill of the hunt, life in its most true raw honest form. He blinked. And saw Ocelot, stretched out on his back, cotton shirt and three day old dusty trousers unbuttoned at the collar and waist. Guns within arms’ reach. Half asleep, warm, relaxed, open and welcoming. Was this real? Could it be as lasting, as dependable? Snake’s hands gripped the gun tighter. Ocelot frowned.  
Then softly, but rasping, a snake over gravel, he sighed John’s name.  
  
Snake froze.  
Ocelot sat up. Eyes wide under his anxious brow. Snake held back the desire to take those high cheek bones in his palms and crush the kisses out of Ocelot’s mouth, to chase out the intruder.  
“John.” He said again. John swallowed. Gone were the resonant depths of Ocelot’s voice, the warm rolling waves, that could speak of love and trauma in the same breath and make them both drip with honey. “I’m...” He hesitated, gaze slipping away. “I sound…” The vibrations cut short, leaving his words to rasp across the root of his tongue, the drawl that hung on for dear life became a cruel taunt.  
  
Snake got up onto his knees, letting the pistol slip away to the ground. He ignored the crack of his joints protesting as he sunk to all fours and prowled over to the other man.  
“Please say something.” The intruder spoke through Ocelot’s mouth again. John pushed him back to the floor and climbed on top of him, kissing him. His biting mouth, his salty cheeks, his strong throat. Ocelot didn’t argue as Snake undid his shirt, running calloused hands over his chest and stomach, hot wet tongue lapping over his scars. He slid his arms free as Snake, with more care than belayed his bulky frame, slipped Ocelot’s boots off. By the time he was ready for the trousers Ocelot had already undone them, and he simply had to arch his back to let Snake drag them down his legs and toss them aside.  
“John--” he sighed, waves over coarse sand.  
“This why you didn’t talk?” John growled, laying down between Ocelot’s thighs, beard scraping the soft skin there, lips kissing it better.  
  
Ocelot closed his eyes, leaning back, loosing himself in the heat of the man’s body, his mouth, his hands, running over his skin, his kisses burning hot, the air cool on saliva on skin.  
“Do you hate it?” Snake mumbled. “Did you think I would?”  
_How can I explain?_ Ocelot thought. _How can I tell you what it’s like, to hear someone else speak when you talk?_  
He started to lower his head again.  
“John wait.”  
And raised it.  
They stared at each other, endlessly patient, always willing to wait for the perfect opportunity. Ocelot seemed, for once in his life, to be struggling to find words.  
  
“You know.” Said Snake. “When I found you in the hospital with me. You didn’t sound anything like you did when we first met.”  
Ocelot blinked, looking just as taken aback and nervous as he had moments before EVA had kicked him of that roof 30 years ago. He looked so pretty Snake had to take a moment to kiss the tense muscle of his old friend’s stomach, lips brushing against the hair trailing up his belly, whispering over the scars that marked him. “I doubt I sound much like I did then.” He mumbled. “If you really think about it.”  
“That’s different.” Ocelot growled. “This is different.”  
Snake rested his cheek against Ocelot’s belly, soft and warm, flexing with his breathing. “A soldier is nothing without his eyes...” He said, the words from the past had the hairs on Ocelot’s arms standing on end, straining as if he’d been plunged into ice water. “And a conspirator without his voice...”  
“I can still talk.” Ocelot said defensively.   
“I can still see.” Snake replied.  
“What’s your point?”  
“We have not been destroyed. Not yet. I still see. I still fight. You can still talk, and you will talk, and work, and weave your web until you utter your last.”  
“That was almost poetic, John.”  
“But tonight. I think… You’ll scream…”  
  
\---  
  
Ocelot lay panting under John’s weight. His eyes staring glassily upwards past the thatch of curls that was all he could see of John’s head, his face being hidden against the gunman’s shoulder. He was dimly aware of his nails aching from where he’d dug them into John’s broad back. Occasionally his pelvic muscles clenched in the aftermath of his climax, even laying down his legs were trembling, hooked up around the backs of John’s thighs.  
“That was good.” John mumbled, hugging Ocelot closer. “You’re good.”   
Ocelot chuckled. “Same to you, Boss.”  
  
John raised himself up on his elbows, sweat plastering strands of hair to his flushed face, he was smiling, but the smile vanished when he saw Ocelot’s expression.  
“Hey. Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you did I?”  
_Yes_ , Ocelot wanted to say, _of course you did, that’s how I like it, remember? How We like it._ But that wasn’t what John meant, and it wasn’t what was bothering him.  
“No.” He said. Hating the way the simple word dragged over the sandpaper in his throat. He could hear it, in the back of his mind, his voice, his Real voice. He’d been proud of his voice. Of the way he could use it, the way people responded to it, the way it could cut through a conversation, demand attention, sooth anger, stir up discontent. It had been a good voice, a powerful tool. _His_ voice. And it was gone. Stolen. Replaced with this… Mockery. As if someone on high had seen his duplicitous life and cursed him with this ratty voice in response.  
  
He tried to breathe in deep, it caught in his chest, turned into a choked sob.  
“Boss...” He managed, and closed his eyes. Feeling John kissing him, but as if from a long distance away. “Have I ruined everything?”  
“Ruined everything? No. Why—is this because of your throat?”  
“I’m… I’m afraid I’ve lost too much. What if...” He looked away, ashamed. “What if people don’t take me seriously.” John stared at him. It had never occurred to him to not take Ocelot seriously, he’d known him so long, but even John had been aware that people tended to raise an eyebrow or two at his peculiar style. To think that This might be the thing that Ocelot feared peoples’ reactions to, threw him off balance for a moment. “I don’t know how this is going to affect my work. And that’s all I--”  
“You’ll be fine.”  
“How can you know that?” Anger shot through his words. Anger at his situation, or that John dared to contradict him, or comfort him.  
“You’re always fine. You’ll find a way to deal with any problems this raises for you. Personally I think it could make you sound a lot scarier, used right.” He shrugged.   
  
Ocelot thought about this for a while. Discomfort rose up inside of him, the same haunting feeling he got whenever he came too close to thinking about how this was all supposed to be temporary. While John was in the hospital, while Venom needed his skills, while Big Boss needed his intel… So why did he keep on doing it? He could do other things… He could… He closed his eyes. John slowly folded himself into Ocelot’s side, half asleep, clinging tightly to him.  
  
“Hey, Adam...”  
“Yeah, Boss?”  
“...”  
“John?”  
“I...” He trailed off. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”  
“I--”  
“I know you think you owe me. You don’t. I’d be dead if it weren’t for you. I’ll die one day, but when I do, it won’t be because you let me down, or failed, it’ll be because of everything I’ve done.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“I’m...” He grimaced, all rough edges and fatigue, anger and fear, it leaked into his voice, his tense body. “I want you to know, while I can still feel it to tell you, you made things so much better. Always. I know that… This won’t stop you, won’t even begin to, you’re stronger than that.”  
Ocelot leant in to kiss the top of his head.  
“I love you, John.” He rasped, the words sounding alien in this new voice.  
“You’ve done so much for me, been through so much, don’t think I don’t see it.”  
“I love you...”  
“I know.”  
  
Ocelot closed his eyes. The words hung in the air between them. Rough as sharkskin, a rain drop down his collar. He’d get used to this. Like everything before. He’d adapt. Survive. He had to.  
  
“At least I can still talk.” He said, feeling John’s smile against his skin.  
“You could still talk the rear end off a donkey.” He murmured.  
Ocelot snorted. “Thanks for the sympathy, John.”  



End file.
